Soup recipes from Samaritans

Sounds a bit strange doesn’t it. No, Samaritans haven’t become a place you phone to get food ideas. It was totally and wholly appropriate.  Food is such an issue, it’s so linked up to my life.

My mega plus guilt about eating cakes before the abuse has left me with massive food issues. Eating out used to be nearly impossible, getting easier now, its good eating with friends.

Talking this time with Samaritans was dammed hard. When the phone was answered the first words felt patronising and scary, so down the phone went, very quickly. It felt scary and as if the   Samaritan was telling me to go away.It was so so hard ,do I ring back.I was so upset. Gritted my teeth,phoned back,and we sorted it out. It was the first time I have been able to check something out ,did I understand  what was said. Of course I got it wrong!!!!!The Samaritan was being welcoming and recognising me. As is my fabulous skill of reading in-between the lines. Trouble is with Samaritans, 99.00% of the time there are no line to read between.. So we sorted that bit out,or I kind of backtracked and the Samaritan helped me sort out distinctly wobbly lines. That led to the utterly ginormous discussion of food and me.We got round to eating,the stuff I eat daily,the weird stuff, about not necessarily  eating things I like, maybe even eating things I don’t like, because. Because of what, no blinking idea.

OK,missing things out, missing out some of the heavy parts of the conversation, but I have a fabulous recipe for a soup.Samaritans have helped me sort out knarled lines. The knarled lines that I used to run away from. Its finding out that its ok to say “that’s upsetting”

“what do you mean” ,its kind of safe to do that.


Cakes,who’d have thought it.

Yesterday counselling session was hard core.In many ways it comes down to a cake box. A cake box seems such a simple thing, a piece of cardboard made into a shape, into which you place cake,tie it up and carry. What it actually means is when you go the shop,you buy cake you walk a short distance,feeling what? Just feeling,what does a child feel who knows they are going to walk into a house,have tea and cake with a china cup,help wash up and then be abused.

Guess I struggle like crazy sometimes to find the words to describe how it felt,to try and describe how the memory is,cant describe the feelings.

It so hard to see cake box  and see it just like that,all i feel is the shivers and my mind drags me back through a time tunnel. Getting fearful it’s never going to end. Will I get through this,sometimes it feels harder and hopeless. Guess that where Samaritans come in!!!!!

Twirling round the room

Feels like the harry potter dementors are flying round the air round me.How is it that I can I can have some fun and yet the tiniest thing can send me so flipping wobbly.

Counselling session this week was so intense. We started talking about how food has become such an issue. That can use food to help stress, for pleasure and every possible element in-between.

Received  last minute invite to barn dance and  after a mega self-argument with myself. Should I go,could I cope, will I make an eejit of myself and on and on. Even I got bored with myself. FINALLY DECIDED TO GO. There weren’t many there, was good for me. I had really good time. There were a few moments when I was in that moment alone, I was being twirled around ,held by the waist by a man,yes a real live male species,who knew how to twirl,it was fantastic fun. I’ve learnt how to dosie doe, Cumberland reel and strip the willow. I was privileged to see a display of one woman’s Lancashire clog dancing accompanied by a unaccompanied version of the “blackleg miner” sung by the twirley man.Superb.

Tough parts when a male person touched a certain upper part of my body. It WAS an absolute ACCIDENT, zero doubts on that, and they were embarrassed. Trouble is it leaves memories, it’s like wisps  of memory that create a trail through my mind and heart. Its kind of like an aeroplane vapour trail. The trail stays long after the plane has gone.

Thirty six hours later getting off the bus this morning going to work, mass of people trying to get on without giving room for those getting off. A woman pushed past me, bashed into those upper parts on my body and it set off another set of fear and like someone opening a pop bottle that’s been shaken up. Trouble is I can’t find the words for the feelings.

Doubts fears and falling

how does a date in a calendar suddenly make the tightrope start to shake and pull. When your on an escalator and your holding on and suddenly it pulls, takes you off your balance. Only your just handing on by the skin on your teeth. The date on the calendar pulls me back to something two years ago, my world fell apart. I was attacked  whilst volunteering ,but its different, I was attacked because I stepped in to stop the person attacking someone else. Why cant I convince myself that was a huge step change. I was acting on the world ,not letting the world push me out of the way. Hours before  I felt so good. I felt like i was part of the world, not sitting outside of it. Wish I could stand on the balcony and scream my head off. Maybe I need to stop trying to understand what others are thinking and concentrate on my own thinking. I am fantastically wonderful at reading between the lines. Trouble is there generally the wrong lines. Trying to escape the rain that’s pouring through my mind.